


into the caverns of tomorrow, with just our flashlights and our love

by psikeval



Category: N.Flying (Band)
Genre: Birthday Cake, Fluff without Plot, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-25 00:08:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13822341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psikeval/pseuds/psikeval
Summary: Hweseung's first birthday with N.Flying.





	into the caverns of tomorrow, with just our flashlights and our love

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY DARLING WE LOVE YOU VERY VERY VERY VERY VERY VERY VERY MUCH and then he starts humming this little tune and it kind of goes like this

 

After the party, up on the roof with the cameras and gaudy decorations and Hun slipping mixed drinks into people’s hands so smoothly and quickly that Hweseung manages to down three before he’s cut off — after that, they get to take a break. The five of them pile into Seunghyub’s little room and collapse on each other with no audience at all, giggling and tipsy.

They’re all a bit handsy, and keep recalling in rounds that there’s an _occasion_ and the occasion is, as Kwangjin puts it while petting Hweseung’s belly, their dear beloved little maknae. Hweseung gets a lot of hugs, even from Hun, and because it’s his birthday and he feels like it’s allowed, he doesn’t even bother pretending not to love it, just soaks in the affection.

“Like a sponge,” declares Jaehyun, wrapped around him like a boa constrictor.

For once, Seunghyub is really the reserved one—but Hweseung always ends up sitting on the mattress next to him anyway, leaned up against his side and rewarded, every single time, by Seunghyub’s arm around him, Seunghyub’s nose buried briefly in his hair.

When the others finally trail away to bed, it’s just the two of them, the sound of Hun and Jaehyun’s closing doors a distant click — and just like that, Hweseung finds himself abruptly so awake, so aware of the simple fact that Seunghyub’s long and bony leg is pressed up against his, that it’s difficult to breathe normally. There’s so little space between them.

Seunghyub leans away, pulls a paper bag from the mess that’s closest to the window and simply holds it for a moment, fingers fiddling with the handles. Like he isn’t quite sure.

“Don’t laugh,” he warns preemptively, drawing out from the paper bag what is clearly a small cake and placing it on his lap, the clear plastic cover framed by Seunghyub’s long and beautiful hands. “But I bought a second cake as well, in case you didn’t like the first, or we ate too much of it. Or just…as a gift? Because you’re talented and good and very pretty, and deserve the best. We’re lucky to have you in N.Flying, is what this cake says.” At the helpless, choked noise Hweseung makes, Seunghyub leans in closer, plaintive. “I said don’t laugh!”

“I’m not!” Hweseung insists, which is unfortunately, terribly true—instead he has to wipe tears from his eyes, more than once, before they can run down his cheeks. He presses his mouth quite firmly shut before it can make a single sound that might betray him, because there is something soft and shuddering in his chest that Hweseung cannot, _must not_ , let out.

Up so close, Seunghyub is entirely overwhelming: mussed hair, dark earnest eyes and the curve of his gentle smile that has _always_ done, and _is_ doing, horrible things to Hweseung’s heart. The thin grey t-shirt Seunghyub is wearing hangs loose around his neck, exposing the delicate, dangerous lines of his throat and collarbones and just a hint of shoulder.

He takes Hweseung’s face in his hands and strokes at his cheeks with both thumbs. There’s hardly any tears left to brush away, but still, it’s nice. Calming. Hweseung’s skin feels hot and flushed all the way down to his neck; somehow Seunghyub’s hands are warmer.

It is strange, so strange that Hweseung wants to laugh, the way things happen—so fast, and nothing like he imagined—the progression of his life from school to the army to fucking _Produce 101_ , with all of it somehow leading here, to N.Flying, to the friends and fans he adores, to Seunghyub. The miracle of this coming true, simply falling into place, feels like too much to hold, but Hweseung tries. He loves, he _loves_ the way Seunghyub smiles at him.

Seunghyub keeps smiling, fingers curling gently back and forth in Hweseung’s hair.

“Happy birthday, Hweseung-ah,” he whispers. It feels like a promise.

 

 


End file.
